


prince of stars

by 17o2585



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, M/M, The Boys Go To Nevis, Walks On The Beach, that's it lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17o2585/pseuds/17o2585
Summary: Thomas has seen Alexander tired. He’s seen the man when he’s running on coffee, loads of it, seen him sleeping in class with his head tucked into his elbows. Thomas has seen Alexander with the seemingly never-ending dark circles under his eyes, seen him dozing off now and then around campus. Thomas, though, has never seen Alexandertired. There’s always a talent Alexander possesses—a talent of talking too much and running on and on and fighting things that aren’t even needed to be feuded upon, a talent of working and working and writing and writing until there's nothing left.But Alexander here, on an island he grew up on, is exhausted. He looks exhausted. He carries himself like a corpse, engages in nothing. Something in Thomas doesn't like it. As much as it's annoying, he wants to see Alexander smile and argue and do all the things that make him, well, him.(A Trip To Nevis ft. Falling In Love)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 87





	prince of stars

**Author's Note:**

> this is inspired by a special place my friend and i go 
> 
> hope you enjoy <3

There are days where Alexander gets quiet.

Days where he doesn’t argue—not even with Thomas, doesn’t reply to the goads or insults, just sits there peacefully.

Those days, it’s safe to say Thomas gets confused.

He has no reason to believe it’s real. I mean, c’mon, it’s  _ Alexander _ . Nevertheless, he takes those days and names them ‘self-care’ because it’s a nice change not listening to Alexander’s constant talking and shouting.

Today is one of those days. Thomas sighs, turning the page of the book. It gets dull— as much as he hates it— it’s incredibly boring without Alexander’s incessant bitching. 

* * *

Something fishy is going on between the ‘Hamilsquad’, as it’s been dubbed, and Thomas doesn’t know what it is. He and James look up at the same time, glancing in unison at the arguing happening in the room next door. 

“Oh, Alex, c’mon—”

“No,” a distinct voice says back, “I’m changing my mind.” 

“Mon ami—”

“It's fine, guys, seriously. Lay off." 

"Alexander," the voice of John interjects gently, "We're just worried--"

Alexander sighs dramatically. "Don't be."

Whatever it is, it's obvious they've ganged up on Alex for some weird reason. It's not threatening, exactly, more of a... concerned-for-a-friend situation. James shrugs at Thomas's expression, turning back to his book. "They'll figure it out," he says. 

Yeah, well, he hopes they do, the talking is getting annoying.

* * *

Nights like these are strange in general— one day, a few months ago, James and Thomas had been invited to study with the group, and now it was a regular thing. And though Thomas had grown accustomed to arguing, tonight is one of the quieter nights. He can concentrate— and while it seems like a good thing, it's also boring as fuck.

The room is quiet when Alexander shuts his laptop and excuses himself off the couch. He makes his way to the kitchen, hair falling out of his incredibly messy bun as he moves, then stops, lingering at the doorframe for only a second. He makes brief eye contact with Thomas: it's compelling, almost, and then turns again and disappears from view.

Thomas has half the urge to follow him. He glances at the others, all studying intently (or sleeping, in and Hercules and Lafayette's case,) and does.

When he makes it to the kitchen, Thomas sees Alexander perched up against the counter. There’s a spoon dangling from his mouth, a tub of ice cream in his lap, and a lopsided grin painted across his expression. Thomas has half the mind to question how he got settled so quickly, but it takes too long. 

Alexander raises an eyebrow. “Hey,” he says, but it sounds more like  _ ‘fbay’ _ with the spoon. He takes the utensil out, sticking it back into the tub. “I knew you’d follow me in here. I wanted to ask you a question.”

“And… what’s that?” Thomas asks, slightly mystified at the way this weird-ass conversation's going.

“I want you to come to Nevis with me."

Thomas blinks four times. “Okay,” he says, then: "And why the fuck'd you pick me?"

Alexander shrugs. “If I take the others, they’d just.” He pauses, evaluating the words. “They’d be pitiful. You wouldn’t. So, I picked you.”

Thomas crosses his arms. “And what do I get out of it?”

“Uh…” Alexander blinks, taken aback. “I don’t know.” He shifts, “I’m kinda broke, so…”

“I’ll think about it later and tell you.”

“Hm. So,” says Alexander. “Are you… coming with me?”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “What the fuck did we just talk about?”

“Well,” says Alexander. He hesitates a second, then takes another spoon of ice cream and shoves it into his mouth. “ _ Fanks _ .”

Thomas sneers with revulsion. “You’re disgusting,” he says.

“Fuck off,” Alex says. He raises his middle finger. “I’ll text you the details.”

Well. Apparently, Thomas is now going to his rival’s hometown (birth town? the town he was raised in?) with the man. Great.

* * *

The days go by. Alexander has the tickets ready, surprisingly, and slips a paper of packing instructions to Thomas when they pass each other in class a week before spring break. _Dress lightly_ , he says, _it's warm there._

For the first time in his life, Thomas heeds the advice and picks out his best summer outfits. 

Another thing he discovers. It's a drive for Thomas to Monticello, but Nevis is a full plane ride away. Or cruise, same difference: they'll cross the water. Alexander has the tickets ready and keeps them with him. _I don't trust you with yours, I'll give it to you the day of_ , he says. 

Thomas says _fuck off_ back. 

Much to his annoyance, Alexander merely smiles.

* * *

“So,” Thomas asks as the two of them walk off the plane. He inhales: the air smells salty, sun-kissed, and has the tang to it he’s only smelt once before on a trip to Puerto Rico. It smells like a vacation; taken by the scowl on Alexander’s face and his straight-set shoulders, it’s probably not. “Do you come here often?”

Alexander blinks as if remembering he's beside him. “No,” he says. “First time since I was 19.”

“Oh,” says Thomas. “I go to Virginia almost every other weekend.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Alexander stiffens, shoulders tightening ever-so-slightly. “Well, I don’t give a fuck.”

“You should,” says Thomas. He grins, going on. “I’m with you, aren’t I? You gotta listen to my stories now if I’m accompanying you on this trip, or whatever.”

Alexander takes a visibly deep breath. His eyes slide closed for only a second, until they’re open again, staring straight ahead. “Fine,” he says.

Thomas blinks. “…fine?”

Alexander turns to him, opening his mouth. It closes again. “Come on,” he says finally. “We’re staying at Ned’s.”

“Uh,” Thomas says, “Who?”

“My…” Alexander pauses, sighing. “My brother, I guess. He’s not here right now, but we’re staying at the house.”

“You have a brother?”

Alexander’s lip twitches downward. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “What, you want a whole-ass lesson on them?”

Thomas straightens. He paints on an easy, cunning grin— as much as it’s weird that Alexander seems to be discomforted, away from his normal sarcasm and energy, Thomas isn’t in the position to ask. So, instead, he says, “Nah. If I would assume— they’re as annoying as you.”

True to form, Alexander relaxes ever so slightly, “Says the man with twelve fucking siblings.”

“Nine, actually,” Thomas scoffs. “But sure. Whatever you say.”

Alexander shakes his head. “Come on,” he says.

* * *

The house they go to is smaller than what Thomas expects— Monticello is probably triple the size. Then again, they’re on an island. Monticello’s probably the size of Nevis itself.

Alexander’s uncomfortable. It’s obvious he is, he makes no effort to hide it, no effort to respond to Thomas’s insults and rants, no effort to do any of the usual things that make him  _ Alexander _ .

“So,” Thomas whistles, “Are we going to the beach?”

Alexander looks up from the cabinet he’s staring at and whips to face Thomas. “Uh, no?” He shakes his head. “I mean, I guess you can. I’m not your babysitter.”

“You’re just gonna keep staring at the wall?” Thomas runs a hand through his curls, grimacing. “Oh, Jesus, the humidity sucks.”

Alexander rolls his eyes. “Aw, poor Thomas, his sad little curls are being ruined with the moisture?” He relaxes, falling into the norm of arguing with Thomas. “How sad,” he coos.

“Shut up, bitch,” says Thomas. “My curls are beauty and grace on their own.”

“Hm, beg to differ.” Alexander sighs, turning weary and five years older than he is, “Look—you can go to the beach if you want. I can, um, draw you a map if you want, point you to the ones I used to like best.”

“What’s the point if you’re not coming?” Thomas leans onto the kitchen table, crossing his left leg over the right. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.”

It’s probably admitting too much, considering the circumstances, but Alexander doesn’t seem to read into it.

“I would’ve thought you’d want to leave me, first thing,” he says, almost too quiet. “I’m just going to be here, Thomas. Nothing special, seriously, you’d have more fun there.”

“Come with me, then,” says Thomas.

“I’m not going to the beach,” Alexander says, and it’s final.

Thomas shrugs. “Then I’ll stay here and read my book.”

Alexander looks like he wants to argue, but he nods once instead, leaving the room with a fatigued expression.

* * *

Thomas doesn't see Alexander until later that night, and in any other situation, he'd be glad at the lack of presence of the man. In this one, he looks up at every single noise, hoping it'd be him. A part of him tugs at it, answers the unspoken with: _you're at a new place, of course, you want him to be here so you don't die,_ but it's an empty excuse.

He's fucking concerned. _Concerned_ for _Alexander_. 

Thomas doesn't know when the fuck this new discovery developed, but he hates it. 

* * *

"Okay," Alexander says once he walks back into the house. "I brought some dinner from a restaurant around town. I can cook after tomorrow, just wasn't feeling up to it."

Thomas wrinkles his nose. "Keep bringing food, you're talking like I'd eat something you'd make."

There's a thin line between reactions: either the joke starts a feud they're both accustomed to, or it lands in no man's land. Thomas holds his breath. 

Alexander looks up, lips twitching. "I wasn't planning on doing anything, but now that you mention it, good idea. You're allergic to what... honey?"

Thomas's eyes widen. He makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and cry. Alexander snickers. 

"Who the fuck told you that," says Thomas, blowing out a harsh breath. "Jesus, fuck—"

"Stop freaking out," Alexander says, rolling his eyes. "And it was Lafayette."

"I'll kill him."

Alexander peers at him like he's grown two heads. "Yeah, wouldn't count on that."

"Fuck off," Thomas groans. "It's supposed to be my best-kept secret before the french fucker went and blabbed his mouth."

"Lafayette acts more American than you, Jefferson," says Alexander, lips pulled upwards. "At this rate— you're the french fucker."

"You suck, Alex," Thomas says, groaning. "Now I gotta look out for honey in the food, don't I?"

For the first time since reaching the island, Alexander smiles genuinely. He snorts, expression pulled into what could be described as a mix of delighted and contentious. 

"Yeah, probably," he says. "I'd watch out."

* * *

The next few days are anti-climatic enough to call this vacation a work-trip. He hadn't expected a whole-ass vacation, but there's a part of Thomas that had wished for... well, fun.

It's not on Alexander either—the situation of being on Nevis in itself seems to be stressing the fuck out of Alexander.

That's another thing that only adds to it: Thomas has seen Alexander tired. He’s seen the man when he’s run on coffee, loads of it,  _ final’s week _ , seen him sleeping in class with his head tucked into his elbows. Thomas has seen Alexander with the seemingly never-ending dark circles under his eyes, seen him dozing off now and then around campus.

Thomas has never seen Alexander  _ tired _ . There’s always a talent Alexander possesses—a talent of talking too much and running on and on and fighting things that aren’t even needed to be feuded upon. Alexander always works—he’s always going and going and working non-stop (or until John or Hercules physically force him to).

But Alexander here, on an island he grew up on, is exhausted. He looks exhausted. He carries himself like a corpse, engages in nothing. 

Thomas doesn’t like it.

* * *

“This is getting boring,” Thomas finally complains on Day Four. “C’mon. This is supposed to be a vacation, isn’t it?”

Alexander looks up from the notebook he’s reading. He's always reading something similar to old documents— he finds them around the house, even brings them home from outside, and takes the time to study the pages at an excruciatingly slow pace. Alexander sighs. “What do you want me to do about that?”

“Oh, come on,” Thomas grumbles. “ _ You _ brought me here.”

“And  _ you _ agreed.”

Thomas groans, rolling his eyes, genuine annoyance painting his tone. “Jesus, should’ve expected this shit.”

Alexander hesitates, looking down at the notebook. His lip curls downwards, guilty. “Fine,” he says finally. “If you’re so bored, let me take you to the market. It’ll be a good time passer.”

“Please,” Thomas says. “I’m losing my goddamn mind here, and even if that means spending time with  _ you _ , I’ll take it."

* * *

As much as Thomas will never fucking admit it, the market is fun. There are tons of people there, bustling around and talking, and it feels like he's taking part in something special. It reminds him vaguely of the markets in France, brings a smile to his face. If he could replace grocery stores completely with these types of things, he would in a heartbeat. (It's not feasible, of course, but he wishes it was.)

* * *

One surprising thing Thomas learns three days into this mess of a trip is that Alexander wakes up either crying or screaming more often than not.

Rain batters against the window seal of the room. Thomas sighs, turning away from it. It’s too loud for him to sleep, but he’s too logy to get up and do something about it.

Against the sound of the room, there’s a cry from the room next door.

_ Alexander _ , he thinks and decides to get up and find the man. His half-awake brain can barely comprehend whether he’ll wake up regretting it or not, but he shudders as the cold floor meets his feet and keeps the blanket around himself.

The man in question is smack dab in the middle of the bed, curled into himself. Through a burst of lightning, Thomas can see his fear-ridden expression. The thunder comes only five seconds later, and the man whimpers.

Fucking  _ whimpers _ .

Thomas doesn’t know what the fuck to do. People whimper in books while either dying or having nightmares, not real life. Apparently, it’s real life, in fact—laying right in front of him.

He tightens the hold on the blanket around him and sits his ass down on the edge of the bed. “Alexander,” he whispers. “Alexander, wake up.”

Alexander calls, “ _ Mama _ ,” softly.

“What the fuck,” says Thomas, nervous. “No, I’m not your mom. And I’m not… into that sorta thing.” He nudges the man. “Alexander. Wake up, it’s just.” He pokes the man again. “A nightmare. C’mon.”

Thankfully, Alexander wakes the fuck up. He shifts, confused, “Thomas?”

Oh, and doesn’t that sound like molten honey?

“Yeah, Ham,” Thomas says, because  _ what the fuck _ , “It’s me.”

“Oh,” Alexander says. He rubs his eyes with his palm, then drifts his gaze outside. “What’re you doing here?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Alexander says again.

“…And I couldn’t sleep.”

Alexander blinks. He lifts the blanket. “Come on,” he says.

“Uh, what.”

“Come here. We’re both tired. It might be nice to have company.”

Thomas thinks about protesting, but he feels the heaviness of his eyelids and says  _ fuck it _ entirely. He crawls into the bed, next to the man, and sighs at the warmth of another body next to him.

“Good night,” Alexander says, tiredly. “And don’t touch me.”

Thomas snorts into the silent room, and it seems to echo off the walls. “You’re talking like I want your cooties.”

* * *

They wake up tucked into each other. Alexander’s head is on his chest, his hair splayed everywhere, including Thomas’s—

“Ugh, gross,” Thomas grumbles into the expanse of the room, waving his hand across his lip. “Your hair is in my mouth.”

“Won’t be the only thing in your— fuck, you’re not John, are you?”

“No, dumbass.”

“Well,” Alexander says matter-of-factly.

“That’s an insult to me, you know. You can’t compare John to this chiseled, beautiful body.”

Alexander’s eyes rake across Thomas’s torso where the shirt had ridden up the night before. He raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t know, haven’t fucked you yet. Anyways—it’s too early to be awake, good night.”

“Yet, huh,” says Thomas. “And it’s already light outside—”

Alexander’s already asleep. Thomas has half the mind to get out of the bed, but the Rational part of his mind tells him not to disturb the man by moving.

Thomas does not like the way his Rational Mind is going, but he listens to it anyway.

* * *

“Do you have nightmares often?” Thomas asks the next morning, snacking on a biscuit.

Alexander looks up at him, something akin to surprise splashed across his expression. “No, not anymore.” He turns away, tapping a finger on the table in a way Thomas knows is a nervous tic. “Just a mix of the island and the rain, I guess.”

“Oh,” Thomas says. He stares for a moment, then clears his throat. “What are they about?”

Alexander’s lips purse into a thin line. “Well—” he starts, albeit awkward, “About the hurricane, mostly.”

“The hurricane,” Thomas repeats. He connects the dots, “Is that why some of the buildings here are still destroyed?”

“Yeah,” says Alexander.

“I’m sorry you, uh, have nightmares,” Thomas offers. He shrugs passively, sighing. “Never really experienced them to that level, and it seemed scary. You’re cool for dealing with them.”

Who in their actual right fucking mind says  _ you’re cool for dealing with them, _ especially to something like nightmares. Thomas internally slaps himself so hard he winces outwardly.

Thankfully, Alexander’s lips twist upwards, wry. “Thanks,” he says. “So, uh, I was thinking we could go to the market again. My mom used to make the best Sugar Cakes, and I want to try to make them.”

There’s a heavy implication behind the words, but he lets it go. If Alexander was up for talking, he would. 

“I can help, if you’d like,” he says instead. “I have some experience in cooking.”

Alexander smiles, brighter and genuine. “Cool,” he says. “Guess we’re making Sugar Cakes.”

* * *

Alexander squints at the small sheet of paper in his hands, then looks up to scan the stall in front of them. “Okay,” he says. “We just need ginger now, I think.”

“I saw it the other day,” Thomas replies, tilting his head back towards the kiosk behind them. “Fresh or powdered?”

“What the fuck is powdered ginger?”

“Ginger that’s powdered, dumbass.”

Alexander reaches out and shoves Thomas. “You’re fucking stupid. I know that.”

Thomas stares at him. Alexander stares back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Why the fuck are you staring at me like that.”

“No reason,” Thomas says. “Come on. Let’s find some ginger.”

* * *

Alexander rouses Thomas again begging for his mom.

They wake up in the same bed.

Rinse and repeat.

* * *

Alexander works around the small kitchen, bustling through the bags and picking things out. He glances back at the slip of paper on the counter, then rakes his gaze over the ingredients. 

“Lemme see,” Thomas says, reaching out for the paper.

Alexander smacks his hand so hard Thomas just stands for a second, eyes widened, back-of-hand stinging. “Don’t touch that,” he sneers, heaving a breath. 

“Jesus, damn, okay,” Thomas says, voice coated in bitter. “You didn’t have to fucking slap my hand.” Alexander's expression falls the slightest, clutching the slip of paper back into his hand. “You can rewrite it,” Thomas goes on, rolling his eyes. “It’s just a recipe, for fuck’s sake.”

“My mom wrote it,” Alexander says after a few moments, fingers twitching around the recipe. “It’s some of the last… It’s one of the only things I have of her, especially her handwriting. Everything else got destroyed in the hurricane.”

It goes silent. “Oh,” Thomas says at last. “I— uh. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Alexander rolls his eyebrows, painting a humorous smile. “Of course you didn’t,” he says. He clears his throat, shifting on the soles of his feet. “I’m sorry for hitting you that hard.”

Thomas nods once, curls bouncing against his shoulder slightly. “It’s fine. So, uh— you wanna make sugar cakes now?”

It’s awkward as fuck, but the two get to work. Alexander grips the recipe with one hand, refusing to let it go, leaving only another one open for working. With Thomas’s two, three hands are enough for sugar cakes, anyway.

“I hate your shoes,” Alexander says suddenly.

“The fuck,” says Thomas, “These shoes cost more than your fucking life earnings. Don’t insult them.”

Alexander smiles. “Okay,” he says.

Thomas blinks. “What the fuck is  _ ‘okay’  _ supposed to mean.”

“I haven’t insulted you in a long time,” Alexander says. “Felt weird.” 

“Wow,” Thomas snickers. “The moment I thought you were actually a decent person—”

“Oh, shut up.”

They smile at each other, both suppressing grins. Thomas looks away, clearing his throat. “So, uh, I think we need to add ginger now, right?”

Alexander looks down at the recipe in his hand. “Yeah,” he says. “Ginger.”

* * *

_ When Alexander smiles, it’s brighter than the moon,  _ Thomas thinks. 

_ What the fuck was that _ , Thomas thinks. 

* * *

“Don’t carry that with one hand,” Thomas says vaguely, scooping some batter into a pan. “Alex, don’t—”

Alexander laughs, tipping the bag slightly. “Aw, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“If you swing it like that, it’s going to fly everywhere.”

“No, it won’t.” 

“Yes, it will.” 

“No, it—”

The bag slips from Alexander's hand. Thomas’s eye widen in slow motion— it soars, curves in the air, then lands right in front of his— 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He yells. “I fucking told you not to do that.”

Alexander smiles sheepishly. “Oops,” he says, nothing close to apologetic.

“Oh, you son of a—” 

“There are  _ children  _ around. Aka, you— ”

“— you got the flour on my shoes!”

“Oops,” Alexander says again. “Well, I’d say I did you a favor. They were ugly as hell anyway.”

“Oh, you fucker,” Thomas says, a broad, threatening grin flitting across his face. “You little piece of—”

Alexander runs. 

It’s a goose chase. Two men, grown-ass men, at that, running around a kitchen and smiling like idiots while yelling at each other.  Thomas reaches out and grabs Alexander’s shirt only by a margin. His foot slips.

“Ow,” Alexander groans a moment later. “Get off me.”

“You pulled me down,” a disgruntled Thomas grumbles back, shifting. “Ugh, you’re annoying, you know that?”

Alexander only grins. “If we’re not about to make out, please get off me.”

“Oh, it’s make out now, huh?”

“Ew, no, I changed my mind,” Alexander says, rolling out from underneath him. “Fucking gross, man. You probably have cooties.” 

“Who the hell even says  _ ‘cooties’ _ , are you, like, a fifth-grader or something?”

“You just said them, hah,” Alexander says. “Take that, bitch.”

“If remote controls existed for humans, I’d fucking mute you.”

“Please do,” Alexander slyly grins. “And how are you gonna try—”

He’s met with a heap of flour in his face. 

* * *

When the sugar cakes are done, they’re left on the counter, untouched. 

Thomas doesn’t ask.

* * *

“Okay, so about the make-out thing,” Alexander says at three fucking AM. Even though he really should, he does not shut the fuck up.“I’m cool with that.” 

“Oh my god, bitch, shut the fuck up,” Thomas groans beside him. “I don’t want to hear your stupid, annoying ass voice right now. I need three business days of preparation to deal with it.”

“I just confessed my undying love for you and this is how I’m being treated? Tragic.”

“Deal with it,” Thomas says, then goes back to snoring like a fucking donkey.

Alexander stares into the expanse of the dark room for a few minutes before kicking Thomas off the bed. 

* * *

“Why the fuck am I on the floor?” Thomas asks four hours later, groaning. “Ouch.”

“You were snoring like a fucking constipated bear,” comes Alexander’s muffled, sleepy reply. “Too deep in your princess beauty sleep to notice I’d pushed you. I laughed, for like, five minutes at your stupidity.”

“Maybe a princess stuck in a beauty sleep needs a kiss from a prince to wake up.” Thomas pauses, elongating it with a raised eyebrow. “Oh wait. Don’t see any princes here.”

Alexander turns away, facing the wall. “Fuck off, I don’t give a shit, and I’m trying to sleep.”

“I’m surprised you’re smart enough to use an Oxford Comma.”

“I’m talking, so I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying,” Alexander  _ hmph _ s. He buries his head further into the pillow. “Fuck off.”

“You paused,” Thomas explains, slowly and carefully, as if it’s a child he’s talking to. Maybe it is a child. Alexander  _ is  _ a fucking child sometimes. “Therefore: you used an Oxford Comma.”

“That’s the fucking dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life, and trust me, I babysit drunk John.” 

“You remind me of an Oxford Comma,” Thomas grins, tapping his fingers against the bed. “Useless and unnecessary for a society to function.”

“Don’t be jealous a comma is sexier than you.”

Thomas picks up a pillow and throws it at Hamilton’s head. “I’m kidding— I’m a jackass, but not that level.”

“Hm,” says Alexander. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you are though. Can see the headline—  _ rich, stupid, annoying man refuses to use the Oxford Comma because he thinks he’s too good for it. _ ”

“Are you forgetting your whole ass three AM love declaration? Because I’m not.”

Alexander shuts up.

* * *

Alexander disappears the whole day, comes back after the sun has set. He places another book down on the table, fingers lingering on it for a second longer. This time, however, he lets it go, carefully, and brings out a stack of newspapers from a pile in the cabinet. 

Thomas watches as the man slowly and cautiously wraps the book in the newspapers. It’s the most careful he’s ever seen Alexander be. The man does not rush, does not run into it as he normally does, instead— he puts his whole heart and soul into a single wrapping. 

It takes longer than it should, but Alexander straightens after he’s done and picks up the book. tracing the outline. He smiles: sad and small. 

“What is that,” Thomas asks, “Seems special.”

Alexander snaps up at the noise. He blinks, “Oh— uh, I didn’t see you there. It’s.” he pauses, visibly hesitating.

"You don't need to answer," says Thomas.

“No, no, it's fine. My... love for writing came from my mother,” he says, slow and pronounced. “There’s nothing left of her stuff but this. I want to, um. I want to take it back and see if I can copy it out into something more sturdy.”

“You want to restore it?”

Alexander nods. 

“Well, James likes doing that type of stuff with his old books, you can talk to him about it.”

“Oh,” says Alexander. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Thomas says. He clears his throat. “I, uh— I made dinner because I didn’t know when you’d come back.” 

Alexander smiles as he says, “Cool, thanks.”

* * *

“I have a question for you,” says Thomas as they eat dinner. He twirls the fork in his hand, “You don’t have to answer, I’m just curious.”

“Go ahead,” Alexander says mildly. 

“Why are we here?” He asks, glancing around the house. “I mean— why did you want to come back? It’s obvious you’re, uh, struggling, so…”

To his surprise, Alexander smiles. It’s small, almost sad, but it’s there nevertheless. “When I left Nevis the first time around, it was a… how do I describe it— hasty affair. I was a teenager, and after the hurricane, it just wasn’t the best experience in general.” He pauses, evaluating the words. “As much as I fucking hate this place, I did grow up here. And I needed to come back to do these small, simple things, like make sugar cakes, to just… I don’t know how to explain it. I just  _ needed  _ to. 

“Closure?” Thomas supplies, albeit questioningly.

“Yeah,” says Alexander, shrugging. “Something like that.”

Thomas watches, tracking the minuscule fidgets from the man. They’re not at the point of fire, yet, so he goes ahead. “What was your mother’s story about?”

Alexander, once again, glances up, surprised. He clears his throat, “Uh, just something about the sky— she used to be an… avid sunset and stargazer, I guess you could say?” Alexander shakes his head. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s about it.”

“Well, sounds cool,” says Thomas. He offers Alexander a smile, though it’s one of the most awkward things ever. 

Alexander lets a beat pass, then raises an eyebrow. “It must be new for you, huh? Your estate, is that what it’s fucking called? It must be the size of the whole island, or so I’ve heard.”

“And where’ve you heard that?” Thomas questions, then: “Accurate, though, yeah. Probably.”

Alexander’s lips twitch, but he manages to remain unimpressed. “You sleep-talk, you know that? It’s stupid if I don’t say so myself.”

“I do not sleep talk,” Thomas scoffs, shaking his head rapidly. “And no, I don't fucking snore either.”

“Oh, yeah, you do,” says Alexander, expression pulled into a knowing smirk. “You went on about the French and baguettes.” 

“I did not.”

“Did too. I was there.”

“You’re making this shit up to rile me up,” Thomas says, “And I, as the only adult here, will remain an adult and ignore that.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

* * *

Thomas remembers the 3 AM love declaration he got and thinks Alexander forgot. 

Alexander remembers the 3 AM love declaration he gave and thinks Thomas forgot.

Though they want to, none of them mention it.

* * *

_ Coral covers the landscape of the sky, fields of red and black roses flowing back and forth against the ever-changing wind direction.  _

_ Another meets her halfway. _

_ The face looks up, smiles— taunting, teasing, mean. _

_ The face looks up, and Alexander’s heart stops.  _

_ The sky turns red— red for blood, red for love, red for anger. Red for longing, red for death and destruction and love and strength and passion and— it stills for a moment, the face rocking back and forth, humming an all too familiar tune.  _

_ “Mama,” he whispers, trembling. _

_ His mom— no, not his mom, it’s not her, it’s _ not it’s not it's not _ — raises a bloody and beaten arm; a small white bird flies out of the palm of it. It flaps its weak wings; takes flight, higher, higher, higher—  _

_ A storm of water and wind develops a second later and swirls around it, harsher and harsher and harsher—  _

_ It falls.  _

_ Blood seeps from the little birdie’s chest. It twitches miserably on the ground at his feet, wings torn. _

_ The face hums. “The hurricane should’ve swept you as well,” it says.  _

_ The face floats away, into the oblivious. _

_ The fathom rain is hard, acidic, and it burns. _

_ The sky changes again, now flowered with a royal, deep purple. From the distance, he hears a voice calling him. A familiar one. A  _ safe  _ one.  _

_ “Alexander,” it says. “Alexander.” _

_ Something in it is annoying but lovely at the same time; the letters are said and emphasized and elongated as if they suit kings and queens but also comfortable enough for him to lean forward, searching for it— “Alexander,” it repeats, “Alexander, Alexander, Alexander— “ _

_ He chases the sound.  _

“Alex,” it says, coming from beside him. “Alexander, please, wake up.”

“Jefferson?” He asks, regaining alertness slowly, blinking. “Huh?” Thomas leans forward and turns the lamp on from the side. He squints. “Oh. fuck, I’m sorry for waking you—”

“It’s okay,” Thomas says softly. He reaches out, laying a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Do you want to watch something? I downloaded a bunch of stuff to Netflix before the trip.” 

Alexander rubs his eyes. “Okay,” he says, “that sounds good. ” 

They sit, side by side, Thomas’s laptop perched atop the bed space in front of them. Alexander can feel himself drifting off. His head falls onto Thomas’s shoulder, but the man merely wraps the blanket around him tighter and hums softly.

* * *

Alexander definitely can get used to waking up with Thomas, but he pushes the thought far and away. They are nothing, and once this vacation is over, there’s nothing else that can be felt. 

* * *

“Okay,” Alexander says later that afternoon, “I think we can go to the beach.”

Thomas looks up from the book he’s rereading. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Should be fine, I mean I can’t be a baby about it forever.”

“Well,” says Thomas, closing his book. “Looks like we’re going to the beach then, huh. Anything we should know before going?”

Alexander manages a smile. “Watch out for the sharks.”

“Yeah, they probably can’t resist me and my perfect blood—”

“You and your perfect blood are stupid,” Alexander cuts in. “We’ll leave in an hour, and please leave your jackassery at the door.”

Thomas smiles. “Nah,” he says, leaning back in his chair again. He lingers, only a moment, on the other’s shaky expression, but chooses to ignore it. For now. 

* * *

In the scheme of things, it turns out to be fairly anti-climatic. A part of Alexander expects destruction— chaos and darkness and the cold, cold water. It’s not. It’s a beach like any other, filled with families and couples having their vacation fun.

For a moment, between the ocean meeting the shore, Alexander can see his mother there, picnic basket in hand, and smile ready. He can see her reach out; she takes the hand of little Alex and walks them into the sand, smiling delightfully at the wonder in her son’s eyes. 

Alexander blinks, and she’s gone. His heart stops a beat, then regains. It’s been years. It’s okay. It’s  _ okay _ . 

“It’s beautiful,” Thomas says from beside him, smiling. The colors of the sun meeting the horizon hit him perfectly, painting him a look with what Alexander can only describe as perfect. 

Alexander turns back to the ocean, stares at the reflection of the sun. “Yeah, well,” he says, voice thick and wobbled. “Here you are.” 

“You come from a beautiful place, Alexander,” Thomas comments, either ignoring or not realizing his obvious discomfort.  _ Maybe he’s too struck by the colors,  _ Alexander thinks and smiles at the smile of Thomas.

Between the turmoil, it gives a chance to say _what the fuck_. Alexander loosens only the slightest. It’s okay. Thomas is here, at the end of the day. The man he loves is here.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he thinks, only this time aloud. 

“Huh?” Thomas turns to him, concerned. The lines in his expression become soft and imploring as he gazes at Alexander. “If you’re not comfortable with this, we can always go back to the market and do something there. The beach isn’t a necessity.”

Alexander turns back to the sea, closes his eyes briefly. Opening them again, he shakes his head. “No, I… I’m alright. It’s okay. C’mon, let’s find a spot.”

Thomas hesitates beside him, then takes his hand. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Alexander repeats. “Okay.”

* * *

Though he’s made it to the beach stage, Alexander has no interest in the actual water. He enjoys pools, enjoys water activities in general, but the water here and now is a step too deep and too far— he’s not ready.

He and Thomas sit on a towel. Well— he sits on a towel while Thomas more, like, lays down on it, his back, eyes closed and towards the sky. 

“You look fucking weird,” Alexander comments, peeved. His voice shakes only the slightest, but it’s enough for Thomas to peek an eye open. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, lined with concern.

Alexander swallows, mustering a bitter laugh. “Fire back,” he says. “I picked you for the trip because I knew you wouldn't pity me, so  _ don’t _ .”

Thomas blinks. He brings himself back upright, then sighs. 

Alexander stares at him. 

“Are we going to address the whole… thing?”

“What thing,” Alexander says even though he knows exactly what the fuck it is. “We’re not a fucking middle schoolers— use your words.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Look, Alex, neither of us are stupid—”

“Really?” Alexander cuts in, ready to argue, “because I think—”

“—Alexander, please.” Thomas shakes his head, sighing hardly. “If you didn’t mean it— tell me. But there’s—” 

“—Look, Jefferson, there’s a difference between wanting to fuck you and being in love with you.” 

Alexander’s eyes go wide. Thomas pauses, running a hand through his hair. Finally, he resumes, considerably calmer. 

“I never said you were,” he says. He hesitates, only the slightest. “Either way— I’m good with both.”

Alexander stares at him. Seconds tick by; he opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. 

“I would make a joke about finally making you shut up, but I’m not going to do that,” Thomas says, tone bordering peeved at the silence. 

“Well,” Alexander says, quieter than usual. “It’s a good thing I love you. And yes, the want to fuck comes with that.”

Thomas visibly relaxes. He laughs. “Jesus, Alex.”

“I love you, Thomas,” Alexander says. 

Thomas smiles. “I love you too,” he says.

They stare before Thomas clears his throat. “Okay, uh. This is bordering Hallmark, maybe we should—”

“Your abs are stupid,” Alexander says before he can finish. 

“Bitch, please,” Thomas scoffs, shoving him. “This took every day out of my high-school and college years—”

“Did you just ‘bitch’ your boyfriend?” 

“Uh,” Thomas says. “Are we boyfriends?”

Alexander snorts. “I just declared my love for you, and you’re going around asking me whether I wanted to date you? Read the fucking room.”

“Well,” says Thomas, “Looks like I have a tiny gremlin man as a boyfriend.” He raises an eyebrow at Alexander’s glare, “Not that I’m complaining, though.”

“Shut up,” Alexander says. “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Okay, and…” Thomas flicks his forehead. “I’m  _ your  _ stupid.”

Alexander fake retches. “No,” he says, making a huge gesture of it, “We are  _ not  _ doing that shit. We are grown-ass adults and we will act like grown-ass adults.”

“Yeah, okay,” Thomas says, exasperated. “You used to argue with me like a child, but that works.” 

“I used to argue with you?” Alexander  _ hmph _ s, “We used to argue with each other. An  _ argument  _ includes  _ two people.” _

Thomas leans into Alex, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Alex, always so riled up—”

“I’m breaking up with you, fucker,” Alexander says, but he smiles, blushing. 

“Can’t get rid of me,  _ babes _ .”

This time, Alexander almost pukes for real, eyes widened with disgust. Thomas is too busy laughing his ass off to notice.

* * *

“The ocean is nice,” Alexander says a while later, laying a shoulder on Thomas’s shoulder. He sighs, deep and long. “I missed it, as much as I tell myself I can’t.” His eyes wet, but he blinks them away. 

Thomas links their hands together, a silent and steady pillar.

“I just miss her,” he says, voice wobbly. “Fuck, Thomas.”

“Tell me about her,” Thomas says, “Sometimes it helps to remember and laugh and smile at the memories.”

“She used to call me the prince of her stars,” Alexander says, voice muffled by Thomas’s shirt. He shudders, then clears his throat. “When I was young, around 6, I think, I used to argue with her on it. I wanted to be a king, not a prince. She never budged— _‘Alexander, you’re always going to be my prince, even when you’re old and grey’._ ”

Thomas smiles. “That sounds very in-character.”

“Yeah,” says Alexander, laughing breathily. “They're overrated anyway, huh? Look at George King.”

“I used to hate you, supposedly, but if there’s one person I absolutely cannot stand, it’s him.”

Alexander breathes a small, loosened laugh. “Me too. Seabury, too. Him and his little hoard of fuckers.”

“Remember the time Charles Lee decided to take on Washington in his own class?” 

“Jesus, the man got his ass handed to him.” 

Thomas snorts, loud and disbelieving. “That was a fun day, I gotta admit. Fucking satisfying to see.”

“Yeah, it really was.” Alexander sobers. "I would give anything to have her here to see me now. I work hard, but I do it for her."

"Hm," Thomas says, chin on Alexander's head. "I think she'd be proud of you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Alex. One hundred percent."

* * *

When he dreams that night, there’s another bird. It takes flight, into the air, higher and higher and higher until it stops, wings frozen for half a moment.

Then, it falls. When he finally looks down at the little animal, wings twitching pathetically on the ground, there’s purple seeping out from it. 

The violet seeps into the ground, spreading across the ground until it’s all purple, purple, purple— 

Alexander wakes up. He glances to his side— Thomas is laying, sprawled and safe. He relaxes, shifting closer to the man. They’re fine. He’s fine. The hurricane was years ago, and it’s gone. It won’t happen again, and even if it does, he’ll be off the island and safe. He has Thomas now too. He has the man right next to him. 

“Alex,” Thomas asks into the dark room, shifting to bring an arm around his middle. His voice is filled with sleep and fatigue, but he goes on. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Alexander replies gently, moving closer. “Just thinking.”

“About what,” says Thomas, yawning. He runs his fingers through Alexander’s hair, soft and practiced. 

“I’m just glad you decided to come with me,” Alexander says, humming. He closes his eyes, resting his head on Thomas’s shoulder. 

Thomas smiles against his forehead, “I’m glad too.”  **  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> i think i changed the pov towards the end accidentally whoops
> 
> as i always say i have never been in love so hope it was semi-accurate LMAO 
> 
> i did some research and found that sugar cakes are a commonly eaten dish in nevis. ive never tried it but i searched up the recipe and it looks cool lmao. 
> 
> also fun fact for you: i added in the honey thing after i drank a honey latte for the first time today and am not feeling very well present time dfkjnsdlkjfs
> 
> have a good day and if you liked this pls drink some water :))


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